


In Vinos Veritas

by KRUZSHTERN



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk!Laurent, Gen, References to Canon, mentions of damen/laurent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KRUZSHTERN/pseuds/KRUZSHTERN
Summary: With King Damianos in Aegina, Nikandros realises that it falls to him to ensure that the Prince of Vere doesn't accidentally kill himself in a drunken stupor.
Relationships: Laurent & Nikandros (Captive Prince)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	In Vinos Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> Set somewhere between KR and TSP. We know that at some point Laurent and Nikandros go from having an antagonistic relationship to getting along well enough to spend time alone together. I figured that as much as Laurent trusts Damen, he doesn't necessarily trust all his character judgements. So what better way to have them bond than letting Nik prove himself as a decent guy to Laurent without any of Damen's influence?
> 
> Un-betaed. All mistakes are my own.

His highness, Prince Laurent is extremely drunk.

With Damen gone on a trip to Aegina to deal with a minor Patran border dispute, Nikandros as kyros of Ios is the second-highest-ranking individual present and has been placed accordingly to the Veretian prince’s right near the end of the table at the banquet in honour of the rare Kemptian delegation who’s in Akielos to discuss a new permanent trade route. Now that there’s no risk of their ships getting caught up in a blockade set up by the Veretian Navy, both parts are eager to get their hands on each other’s goods. 

Nikandros is happy for the trade opportunities, but he has to admit that he finds it slightly disconcerting to be locked in a room with so many pale-skinned blondes. It appears that Prince Laurent mostly takes from his mother’s side of the family.

From this vantage point, he’s been greeted with the sight of the prince politely accepting goblet after goblet of the finest Kemptian wine which a high-ranking member of the delegation kept offering him to sample. Nikandros knows from experience that even the finest of wine from Kempt tastes like piss compared to what Akielos and the south of Vere have to offer, their summers too short and winters too long, so he’d been secretly pleased when it appeared that only the king was given this honour. Later there was Makedon appearing at the table, pouring griva for both kemptians and king-to-be, all while slapping Laurent jovially on the back as if they were old friends and not high ranking men of until recently enemy nations. Nik still doesn’t quite understand Makedon’s fondness of the snake prince, considering it took himself years to earn the man’s respect. He’s not above admitting that he’s slightly jealous of that particular feat. 

Nikandros has to hand it to the blonde terror; he holds his liquor surprisingly well considering his size and the fact that he never appears to drink under normal circumstances. His back has kept its ramrod straight posture and his facial expression never changed from that of slightly haughty politeness, even several goblets in when the banquet’s atmosphere changed from that of the elite’s stiff politeness to the warm comradeship of drunken men. For a while, Nikandros even thought that perhaps the wine might somehow be discreetly dispatched without ever passing the prince’s lips, but after studying him intently he’d had to abandon this theory. The snake even had the audacity to give each freshly sampled wine a thorough review that made the kemptian delegate beam with pride and respond in that monotone way they all spoke. Evidently, this was simply another of the dozen things Laurent was infuriatingly good at. Not in the mood to let himself lose face in front of him, Nikandros had made the decision to limit his own drinking to the bare minimum required, lest anyone thought he’d poisoned anything. 

It appears that even Laurent has a limit though, and if Nik wasn’t the only somewhat sober person in the entire hall he’s sure everyone else would notice that the perfect ice prince is almost as gone as they are. The faint flush in his face that’s been present since the start of the banquet has recently taken such a shade that I can no longer be accredited to the heat of the room, and his lids have grown heavy. The next time he attempts to reach his goblet, he miscalculates and the wine sloshes over the table. At this, Laurent  _ giggles _ .

If that wasn’t enough to convince anyone, then the final nail in the coffin comes as the king attempts to stand up. Twice he tries to push himself off the chair, and twice there’s an audible clatter when he loses his balance and reaches for the table during his fall. With dawning terror, Nikandros realises that he’s going to have to help the viper to bed unless he wants to face Damen’s hurt puppy eyes when he’s told that his lover died falling down the stairs of the royal wing because his best friend couldn’t bother to help him up. 

Nikandros allows himself to revel in the idea of Laurent dead by his own drunkenness for a second before he sighs and stands up. When Laurent attempts to stand up for the third time, he’s there to grab him under the arm before he can fall again. Surprised when he doesn’t crash down onto the chair again, Laurent lets out a small sound and looks up into his saviour’s eyes. 

“Oh, it’s you.” His eyes are slightly glazed. In the light of the hall, they look duller than Nik’s ever seen them.

“It’s me. You’re drunk,” he replies drily. 

“That I might be,” Laurent answers after a second too long. “I suppose it’s time to retire.” Ignoring the fact that Nikandros is the only thing keeping him upright, Laurent starts walking with determination. In the opposite direction of the royal chambers. 

Nikandros uses the grip under his arm to turn him around. Laurent either doesn’t feel like protesting, or he’s too busy putting one foot in front of the other to notice. Nikandros suppresses a sigh. 

They make their way through the palace slowly. Laurent’s for the most part kept busy with the walking part, but ever so often he’ll turn his head towards Nikandros and open his mouth as if he’s about to say something. When he realises that it’s not Damen next to him he’ll shut it again and look away, only to repeat the entire process shortly after. Still, for a drunk person, he’s not too bad. 

The only time Nikandros nearly loses his patience with him is when they get to the stairs. By now Laurent’s apparently grown tired because upon seeing the stairs he lets out a small sound of delight and attempts to sit down at the first step. When Nikandros’ hand on him keeps him from doing this, his expression changes to that of confusion. Nikandros drags him upright again and gets him to take a few steps up, until he repeats the same action. Twice. Sorely tempted to haul him over his shoulder like a sack and just get on with it, Nikandros reminds himself that Laurent might throw him into the dungeon for such an action.

At last, they manage to get up the stairs and into the prince’s chambers. It only takes a short look at Laurent for the guards to understand why Nikandros is there with him, and they let him pass without much trouble. After the stairs, it’s easy to coach Laurent into the bedroom and towards the bed.

Only when he's managed to untuck the bed’s coverlet and get Laurent to sit down onto it does Nikandros realise the problem of his clothing.

In true Veretian style, Laurent is wearing some sort of tightly laced concoction of a heavily brocaded jacket. The collar is high and so stiff it's already left red streaks from where it's been digging into the soft skin under his jaw after he gave up keeping his head upright. He's not wearing much in terms of jewellery except for a golden brooch in the shape of a starburst where his white undershirt peeks out under his jacket.

Nikandros cannot in good conscience leave him like that. Worst case scenario he'll fall asleep at the wrong angle and choke to death, and then some servant will mention seeing Nik escorting him upstairs and he'll end up accused of murdering the king of Vere. Damen might not execute him, but he'd surely lock him in the dungeons for the rest of his life. Nikandros did not work his way up to where he is today for it all to end because he couldn’t help a drunken man unfasten his jacket.

With a sigh, he bends down and starts searching for the knot that surely must be hiding somewhere near the lacing’s top under Laurent’s jaw. It’s fickle work and his fingers feel like they’re far too big as they grapple around but he finally finds some sort of end and manages to guide it through the first eyelet. Too concentrated with the job, it takes him several seconds to realise that the body underneath the bothersome jacket has gone unnaturally stiff. Looking up he sees that Laurent’s face has lost all of its drunken ruddiness and gone chalk white. He instinctively takes a step backwards.

“Are you going to be sick? Fuck, give me a second and I’ll find a bowl or something,” he says and frantically starts looking around for something he can use. Horror images of having to fickle with laces covered in vomit are already flashing in his mind’s eye. Luckily there’s a small washing bowl left on a table on the other end of the room which Nikandros swiftly retrieves.

Laurent doesn’t throw up when the bowl is put in his hands though. Instead, he lets it clatter to the floor as his hands fly to his throat and start fickling with the partly unlaced jacket. For a second Nikandros thinks his mind’s cleared up enough to make him want to undress himself, but then he realises that Laurent is trying, albeit with little success, to lace the collar  _ back up _ .

Nikandros groans and moves to push Laurent’s hands aside. The action brings them face to face, and that’s when he realises that the strange expression on Laurent’s face isn’t drunken petulance but rather barely concealed fear. 

It dawns on Nikandros that Laurent is a too pretty boy of twenty, drunk out of his mind and alone with a large Akielon man who’s only ever been happy to signal his dislike for the him. It’s not that surprising to realise that even the ever so arrogant ice prince of Vere has enough self-preservation to feel threatened by such a situation. Uncomfortable with the assumption, he takes a step backwards. 

“Look,” he begins carefully. “I’m only removing your jacket because you can’t sleep in it. I know that we don’t get along, but can you at least trust me that I wouldn’t hurt you like that for Damen’s sake?” Laurent’s expression doesn’t change much, but somehow Nikandros knows that the reminder that he’s Damen’s friend is helping. “You can keep your shirt and trousers, that’s fine. I only want to remove your jacket and brooch.”

He gives Laurent time to consider what he’s said, and by the time he speaks Nikandros has almost come to terms with having to spend the night watching the prince sleep to make sure he doesn’t choke on the jacket.

“The last time someone touched me against my will, Damen killed two men with his arms tied behind his back,” he finally said.

Nikandros huffed out a laugh. “That sounds like him.”

Laurents gives him another long considering look, but finally gives him a small nod. He lets go of the laces and sets his hands awkwardly in his lap.

Nikandros gives Laurent a stiff but grateful smile and bends back down again, making sure his movements remain slow and easy for Laurent to read. As he works he can feel eyes boring into his forehead with renewed clarity, but the laces are still unfathomably hard to do so he can’t let himself lose focus.

Finally, the jacket opens and he’s loosened the laces at the wrists just enough for Laurent to slip his hands through them. Laurent attempts to be helpful by clumsily raising his arms for Nik to remove the jacket, but his timing is poor and only serves to make the job more difficult. Nikandros doesn’t comment on it though, just folds it and sets it on the table next to the bed. Then he unpins the starburst brooch and places it on top of the jacket. 

“All done, your highness,” he says and reaches down for the bowl at the floor which he also places on the table. Then he takes another step away from the bed. 

Laurent doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders have lost their last ounce of stiffness and now he just looks like any other soldier who’s had too much to drink and too little rest. There’s enough clarity in his eyes for Nikandros to deem it safe to leave him to his own devices. Chances are he won’t lie down until Nik’s left anyway. 

“I’ll take my leave now. I trust that you can take it from here.” 

Knowing that he won’t get an answer he turns and leaves the chamber, nodding once to the guards stationed outside the door. 

***

The next day Laurent is back to his usual icy self without any mention of the night before. However, a few weeks after Damen’s return he approaches Nikandros after a friendly wrestling scuffle with Pallas and asks him if he won’t teach him that last winning move.

Nikandros snorts and tells him that it’ll take more than learning a simple move if he’s to have any hope of winning against anything other than the 14-year-old Akielon stableboy. 


End file.
